Sundry Speedwriting Shorts
by Searece
Summary: Short fics featuring the TF speedwriting community prompts. Characters vary, and collaborations may appear. I will upload when I fulfill a prompt, but due to the nature of the story, this will always be marked as complete. The first chapter is a table of contents.
1. Table of Contents

Hello, this will be a Table of Contents chapter. I don't know if I'll keep up with this, but I hope you enjoy these short oneshots that I will write! Characters and AUs might vary.

Chapter 1: Here Together with You (Collaboration with LadyAnatar)

Chapter 2: Thunder, War, and Healing (Collaboration with LadyAnatar)

Chapter 3: Cycle


	2. Here Together with You

_**Hello everybody, this is a collaboration between LadyAnatar and me. We used TF** **speedwriting** **prompts, although we didn't really follow the time limit. LadyAnatar and I started 17 June 2017. We completed it on 22 November 2017. It took about two hours over both days. It was really fun to write it with her!**_

 _ **Prompt 1: 14 April 2012. Scenario: intimacy in a confined space. Any kind of intimacy - physical, emotional, psychological, up to you.**_

 _ **Prompt 2: 8 January 2011. Setting - Someone else's room at midnight.**_

 _ **xXx**_

 _It'll be fine, Mirage! It'll be a good test o_ _'_ _our skills. We'll be in_ _'_ _n_ _'_ _out before he gets back, and he'll nev_ _a_ _know._

The next time Jazz came up with one of his brilliant ideas, well, Mirage wasn't sure what he would do to his superior, but it would certainly keep him from getting in another embarrassing scenario like this.

From where Jazz was plastered against his front, he felt the Porsche's EM field envelop him in sheepish apology. With a silent sigh, Mirage pulsed back *acceptance/irritation,* then carefully shifted among various boxes to lean against the wall and let his legs stretch out over the floor; if they were going to be stuck in here, then he was going to be comfortable. Jazz wiggled obligingly out of his way to let him move more easily, then settled back down along the larger mech's front.

In the utter darkness, Mirage felt the monochrome mech let out a silent sigh, sending air from his vents skittering over the Ligier's frame. After a moment, he felt a hand gingerly slipping up his frame, skimming over his shoulder and down his arm to his servo. Mirage wove his fingers together with Jazz's. Both mechas remained peacefully curled up with each other, servos latched together in the kind of intimacy only forged when two people shared a long, trusting relationship. Mirage found himself enjoying the silence and easy, unintrusive company, and he even found himself entertaining thoughts of recharge.

Still, he would appreciate it more if they were not locked in Prowl's closet.

OoOoO

Several hours later, soft sounds began to permeate the door, and Mirage and Jazz began to shift. Untangling their hands, Jazz silently lifted his delicate, claw-tipped fist to the door before banging on it as hard as he could. Mirage promptly followed his lead, and after a clattering noise beyond the door, it swung open to reveal an astounded Prowl.

"G'mornin', Prowler!" Jazz chirped, levering himself out of Mirage's grip and into the room. Prowl stepped out of their way to let them escape.

As Mirage carefully avoided all of the potentially delicate and/or explosive items in the closet to push himself off the wall and onto his feet, Prowl answered with considerable aplomb, "Good morning, Jazz. Dare I ask why you were in my heavily secured closet?"

"O'course!" Jazz answered affably, stretching his stiffened frame in a very distracting manner, arms clawing towards the ceiling and chest thrust forward. "We were practicin' our mad skills against one of the most worthy opponents Ah know." He beamed as he shook each leg briefly. "You won."

"I am gratified," Prowl answered drily. "Why did you simply not wake me up?"

"'Cause ya need yo' beauty sleep, and Ah didn' want ta face Ratchet after havin' woke ya up when ya finally went to bed without an intervention."

"So that was a selfish inclination." Mirage could easily see that Prowl did not blame Jazz though; nobody wanted to get on Ratchet's bad side, "Should I see about setting a recharge pad for you in there?"

"No," Mirage quickly answered instead of Jazz. They weren't going to attempt that again, or at least he wasn't.

Jazz pouted, "Would'a made the night a bit more comfy, but nah. Thank ya, Prowler."

Prowl's wings twitched as he tilted his helm. It was useless to get Jazz to call him by his proper name, so instead, he asked, "Why practice your 'skills' against my closet?" Prowl stepped forward to peer into the said closet. He likely didn't want anything out of place before he resecured it.

"Well, as Ah said," Jazz started, as the spec ops bots watched Prowl move several unmarked boxes, extra acid pellets, and something that looked like one of Wheeljack's experiments, "we wanted ta practice our skills, and ah haven't gone pokin' around in yo' closet since we were on Cybertron. So it was abou' time that ah checked yo' systems fo' ya, and since Mirage has neva had the pleasure o' wrestling with yo' door codes, it seemed to be tha only logical thing ta do!"

"Logical indeed," Prowls said in a voice as dry as a desert planet at high noon. "Shall I assume that my defenses are adequate?"

"Eh, they could use a little tunin' up when it comes ta keepin' people out in the first place, but we couldn' actually get out once we were in." Jazz looked thoughtful for a minute. "At least, not without blowin' ourselves up as well."

"I will take that under consideration." Prowl gestured for his two subordinates to move towards the door. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have some work that I must get done before my shift."

"'Kay, Prowler, see ya later!" Jazz caroled before sashaying towards the door. Prowl's optics stayed on Jazz as he went, making sure the bot did not touch anything as Mirage followed.

As soon as the door closed, Mirage grabbed Jazz's arm. "'It'll be fine, Mirage! It'll be a good test o' our skills. We'll be in 'n' out before he gets back, and he'll neva know,'" he mimicked.

Jazz grinned at him sheepishly. "Okay, Ah might have been a liiiitle off. But Ah had such a nice time last night that Ah can't really bring mahself to regret it," he added with a gentle caress to Mirage's hand.

Sighing, Mirage gave a slight smile and equally gentle squeeze in return. "I suppose I can't either. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go and get ready for my own shift."

Letting go, Jazz gave him a friendly bump. "All righ', Mirage. See ya later!"

.

.

.

End.


	3. Thunder, War, and Healing

_**I wrote this chapter with LadyAnatar as well!**_

 _ **Prompt: 11 August 2010. "Convince me."**_

 _ **26 November 2011. Crossing Boundaries**_

 _ **Date started/completed: 22 November 2017**_

 _ **xXx**_

Crossing his arms over his chest, Ratchet leaned back in his chair and fixed the mech on the other side of his desk with a hard stare. "I'm not saying no, but if you want me to go along with that, then you're going to have to try a lot slagging harder to convince me it would be worth it."

Sunstreaker smiled grimly back. "I can do that. First, it will be good for morale."

"Yeah, because I'll be humiliating myself," Ratchet snarked.

"Second," Sunstreaker continued, ignoring Ratchet's comment completely, "I'll get to do a full paint job."

"Well, that's good for you, but what's in it for me?"

"That means that not only will I be busy with a productive, positive project and not getting into trouble, but if Sideswipe even thinks of bothering you while you're all shined up, then I'll beat him with his own arm."

"...Okay, other than reattaching his arm, that is a perk," Ratchet admitted.

"Obviously. Third, you'll be moving out of your comfort zone, and you can rub that in Jazz's face."

"That's nice. Of course, I could also do that by just rolling into the next town and watching some of the kids at the mall."

Sunstreaker kept talking, undeterred by the carbon crisp gallery due to a lifetime of practice dealing with his aggravating twin. "Fourth, the design comes with built-in defenses, so you won't need to deal with any restrictions."

"That's not a perk of agreeing; that's a cold-comfort assuming that I already have agreed."

"And finally," Sunstreaker concluded with a shark-like grin, "in some way, shape, or form, you will probably scare the slag out of almost everyone on base."

Ratchet was quiet for a moment, then broke his considering mood with a matching grin. "Alright, you've convinced me. Now, when exactly are you going to paint me like one of your French bots?"

Rolling his optics, Sunstreaker answered, "The French would weep if I did this to them. And I was planning on the day before the big Halloween party. Meet you in your quarters so that we can get you all clean in your wash racks?"

"Sounds like a plan."

OoOoO

He was only halfway down the hall, and he could already hear the noise, chatter, and music of the party. Was he really doing this? Ratchet glanced down at himself and hefted his "weapon" up to look at it. Absolutely, if only because the faces of the other Autobots would be hilarious. Besides, he had already let Sunstreaker shine him up like this, so he needed to follow through on attending if he wanted to keep the artist from going into fits.

He straightened his posture, squared his shoulders, and marched for the door. The _Ark_ had automatic doors, so his entrance was not as grand as it could have been. Nonetheless, he strode into the room and searched for Sunstreaker who had said he would arrive before him.

As it turned out, everybody in the _Ark_ must have arrived before him. The room was well-lit, but the decorations everybody had scrounged up gave the area a festive feel. And the other Autobots were dressed up too; Ratchet snorted as he saw some of the other costumes.

"Whoa, look at Ratchet!" That was Sideswipe.

Ratchet hefted his costume's weapon, warning the red mech to not antagonize him right now. The enlarged wrench-"The Wizardly Wrench Wackem" as it had been dubbed-looked mighty impressive when displayed with the rest of his attire.

Sideswipe, with Sunstreaker beside him smirking, held up his servos at the sight of the giant wrench. "Just, uh, wanted to tell you that you look great!" Sideswipe himself seemed to be dressed up as Indiana Jones, hat and all.

"Thanks." Ratchet narrowed his optics and watched a couple other bots creep away from him.

"You look kind of like... Thor?"

"Ratchet," Sunstreaker spoke up, "is the god of thunder, war, and healing." Ratchet almost saw a smirk on his face.

"Don't forget wrenches," he added as he hefted up his Wackem.

A laugh came from the side, and Ratchet turned, cape swishing behind him as he looked.

"Yo' weapon is the fiercest ever encountered by mech o' mortal!" Jazz exclaimed as he sauntered up to them, though he was careful to stay at least an arms' length from the medic.

Ratchet's optics shuttered as he took in what Jazz and his follower, Prowl, were wearing. They had gone all out for this party. Jazz had dressed up in gaudy decorative chains paired with two cloth wraps around his upper torso and hips, leaving his middle bare. The outfit reminded Ratchet of the villain slayer from one of those Star Wars movies that the Dinobots were so fond of. Prowl looked like a medieval knight come to life, with minor armor additions everywhere on his frame that the optic could see. He also bore a cape, although one much shorter than Ratchet's. At Prowl's side even hung a sword, which he hoped was fake. How Jazz had convinced the serious second in command to wear something like that, he wasn't sure.

Jazz noticed Ratchet staring at Prowl's costume. "Ya can't have my knight in shining armor. Ah see ya lookin' at his sword 'specially," he said as he turned and wrapped his arms around Prowl, chains jingling as he moved. In response, Prowl wrapped an arm around Jazz's waist.

"I don't want him," Ratchet immediately refused. No offense to Prowl, but the tactician wasn't his type.

"If Ah didn' know you so well, Ah'd take offense ta that," Jazz informed him cheerfully. "Then again, Ah wouldn't have expected ya ta wear such a fancy get-up to the party. Where'd ya get the idea from?"

Ratchet nodded to where Sunstreaker was sitting. "Sunstreaker. He talked me into it. Somehow." He tossed the wrench into the air. "I think I'll be keeping this though." The costume still felt odd. He wasn't used to so many layers of paint being laid over his base colors, but he had to admit that the final result, which exquisitely captured the visage of Thor's armor down to the smallest detail, was a true masterpiece. Pity _he_ had to be the model.

"Use it wisely, O Ratchet," Prowl advised, wings flicking in amusement as he tried not to smirk. "Now, my companion and I bid you farewell." Jazz snickered into his armor as Prowl led him away.

Ratchet thought he heard Jazz say something about "refreshing" but he could not be sure. "Refreshments" sounded good though. As he turned, his cape swished behind him and smacked Sideswipe in the face. He left the sputtering and laughing brothers and headed for the table full of energon cubes to pick one up. He hoped he would not get a helmache in the morning, but he had solutions for that.

Not that he would share that information with the rest of the crew.

Snagging a cube, Ratchet settled against the wall to watch the crew for a few minutes. As he saw everyone having a good time, he smiled as he drank. Odd feelings from the paint and the face-smacking cape aside, he reflected that he was glad that he had let Sunstreaker convince him to dress up to come to the party. Finishing his drink, he dispersed the cube, then he headed into the middle of the fray; it was time to show everyone how to have a good time.

.

.

.

End.


	4. Cycle

**_This was written 7 November 2016. I am posting this on 23 November 2017, which is Thanksgiving Day._**

 ** _Prompt: 09 June 2010: Don't take life so seriously, it's not permanent._**

 ** _xXx_**

Jazz stared at the wall bearing the plaque of the femme he was named after. She'd had such a carefree attitude about life, and now she was gone. Another reminder of how life wasn't permanent. His lips curled in a snarl. It hadn't been anyone's fault she died, not even her own.

Honestly he could barely remember her, he'd been so young.

A hum behind him startled him and he looked back. Was it really-?

Jazz put a servo in front of his mouth. It was. She held out her arms and he stepped forward.

One.

Two.

Six steps and he was in her arms. He threw his arms around her and sobbed, burying his face in her neck though he was taller than her, a helm taller. Please, Primus, let this not be a dream.

"It's not a dream, my love," she whispered.

"Sire?" he looked up at her.

She smiled at him.

"Primus has a job for you," she told him.

"What?" he asked her.

"Come hear for yourself," she gripped his servo gently. A staircase opened up in the floor, and Jazz's audials perked up at the sight. He got to meet Primus? His gaze turned for the wall. Under the plaque entitled "Jazz, loving sire," was a nameplate saying "Jazz, Jr., beautiful creation."

Jazz followed his sire—his beautiful, wonderful sire—down the stairs, and even when the ceiling closed above them, the staircase was still bright and glowing with no source for the luminescence.

Jazz smiled as he followed close behind his sire, only happy to see her again.

"What does Primus want me for?" he asked her.

"You'll see," she said.

Finally, after an eternity of walking, they reached a door. Jazz wiggled in excitement, which caused his sire to rub his helm. They walked through the door and entered a room filled with beautifully glowing crystals.

"Oh, wow," he breathed. Was this the Well? He didn't think anything could be so beautiful.

"Hello, my youngling."

Jazz turned to the sound of the voice and gaped. A massive mech sat in an equally massive chair, and Jazz felt dwarfed, so tiny. He sputtered and wasn't sure whether to bow or worship. He seemed to settle for amazed silence as he stared up at his god himself.

Primus stood up, massive shoulders straight, and smiled benevolently at Jazz. "Hello."

"H-hi," Jazz gulped.

Primus shrunk himself, until he was only about Jazz's height. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yes, sir." Jazz nodded and scrambled to his pedes. "What do you need?" he grinned, eager to please Primus.

"Walk with me."

Jazz took Primus' offered arm and settled his servo in the crook of Primus's elbow.

"Would you like to live again?"

Wow, that wasn't what he'd expected. That was abrupt, too.

"Primus?" he was confused. He would be reincarnated eventually, right? Why was he being asked that now?

"Would you?" Primus' gaze was intense.

"Of course, but I… I want to spend time with my sire before I reincarnate." Jazz's helm drooped.

Primus chuckled. "Don't worry, you'll get to spend time with her. I just need to know if you'll live a life for me, be my emissary, on Cybertron for a life, so to speak."

"What would that entail?" Jazz's optic ridges knitted together.

"You'd be my voice on Cyberton, my worker. You wouldn't be the Prime, but you'd carry out my actions and provide support for the Prime. You're so caring, Jazz."

Jazz flushed. He'd be carrying out Primus' actions? He'd be his worker? And he was caring? Well he knew he was caring, just taking a look at what he'd done in his life would tell anyone that, but for Primus himself to tell him that? Wow.

"I'd… live a hard life, wouldn't I?" Jazz realized.

"Yes, you would."

"I'll do it," Jazz said.

"I haven't yet informed you of everything involved." Primus sounded surprised.

"I know. I don't care. If you need me to do it, I will," Jazz determined.

"…Very well."

xXx

Jazz grinned up at the building. This was it. He'd finally enlist in the Autobots. The time was now, after all. Now or never.

As he walked into the building, all his belongings in his subspace, he smelled the air, crisp and clear. Delightful smell really, even if it reminded him too much of hospitals.

"Hello," he silkily purred as he stalked up to the receptionist desk, "I'm here to enlist in the Autobots."

"Sign up is over there," she pointed to a group of bots in the corner.

Jazz blinked over. Really? It was on a sheet of paper? Well, not paper exactly. A bot. He peered around the bots, his small stature no help in this situation. Jazz was content to wait his turn. Eventually Jazz was the only bot left, content to wait his turn as he was.

xXx

Jazz swayed in his seat as he listened to the music. It sounded like generic elevator music. Surprising for the waiting room of the office of the Prime.

"Jazz," a warm voice sounded behind him.

"Oppy!" with a squeal, Jazz was hugging the Prime's shoulders despite being only half his height or less.

"Jazz!" Optimus laughed and wrapped his arms around the small bot, "How have you been?"

"Good, you? I hope nobody gives you too much trouble."

"Prowl is a little cold, but he means well. I think he's not sure how to react to me."

"Prowl, that's the bot that served the previous Prime, yeah? Or one of the bots?"

"Yes."

xXx

"Hey, mech," Jazz purred. This mech seemed immune to his charms, however, and only hummed.

"What do you need?" the mech looked up when Jazz didn't appear to be leaving.

"Grab a cube with me. Think you need it after bein' locked in here so long." Jazz smiled.

"I don't think—"

"Please?" Jazz pouted, servos clasped together in front of his chest as he wiggled.

Prowl shut his mouth.

Jazz, sensing his prey about to give in, slid around Prowl's desk and knelt beside him. He turned his best bumblepuppy optics up at Prowl.

Wings drooped and Prowl chewed the inside of his cheek.

"Please, Prowl? Ya gotta live sometime… and it'd mean a lot to me."

Prowl stiffened. "Alright."

Jazz hopped up and hugged Prowl. "Oh, thank you!"

He dragged Prowl out before he could protest.

xXx

"Jazz, hold on, just hold on," Prowl begged as he held the bot.

"Prowl…" there was no fear in Jazz's optics, just pain, as they pressed against the wound on his abdomen.

"Don't speak," Prowl hissed.

"Prowl, I will," Jazz coughed, energon bubbling over his chin, "I'll be… okay. Believe me."

"Please, you're bleeding out, don't talk," Prowl scooped Jazz up and started walking for the medics. They couldn't wait for the medics to arrive. Jazz would surely be dead by then.

"Idiot," Jazz growled, "you're injured too."

"Not… so badly as you." Prowl panted.

"Listen," Jazz whimpered, and Prowl looked down at him, "I swear, we'll meet in the Well… if I don't make it."

"Shut up! You'll make it." Prowl stumbled over a body, whose he didn't know nor care.

xXx

Prowl, one optic socket covered with a patch until it could be replaced, stared at the regeneration tank. His spark constricted in his chest. Ratchet had told them it was uncertain if Jazz would ever wake. Prowl had tried to keep Jazz awake prior to his being put in the tank, but he couldn't do it.

"Jazz…" he stood and placed his palm on the tank, "Jazz, please, wake up."

He closed his optic and rested his hot forehelm against the lukewarm glass. "You've got to wake up, for my… for everyone's sakes. We all miss you… I miss you." He didn't know how long he stayed like that, but when he pulled back, there had been no change in Jazz's status.

"Please," he begged one last time, optic searching desperately. He slumped when there was no response. Turning, Prowl strode for the door. He opened the door, and glanced back even as he shut the door.

A digit twitched.


End file.
